


The Way We Are Tied In

by Serenitala



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Post-Movie, coulson feels, memorial service
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 13:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serenitala/pseuds/Serenitala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He thinks about leaving. Just slipping away after the memorial service to the fallen agents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way We Are Tied In

He thinks about leaving. Just slipping away after the memorial service to the fallen agents, to  _Coulson_. Loki had reached inside him and messed everything up, tangled up his thoughts and his feelings. Now his whole life feels like something that happened to somebody else, his memories a black and white film seen in his youth. One moment he's blank and empty, the next he's drowning under surges of emotion he can't even begin to name. Either way, he knows that he can't carry on like before; knows that he can't be Shield's pet sniper anymore. Not after Loki, not after Coulson.

* * *

He'd been a good agent for SHIELD, a damn good one. He'd followed orders, gone where he had been told to go, killed who he was told to kill. He'd done his job. He'd done everything asked of him until he'd been sent to kill the infamous Black Widow and come home with an unexpected playmate instead.

He'd watched her for a while, even had several opportunities to kill her from afar but he'd wanted to do it up close and personal, he'd felt she deserved that at least.

“You're shorter than I expected,” she'd said with a shrug when he'd finally cornered her in a cold, dirty apartment in Munich. Clint had laughed, surprised and genuine and as he laughed her lips quirked upwards for a brief moment. He wondered why she didn't attack him, why she didn't kill him, but instead just eyed him carefully, weighing him up. So he'd talked to her, told her that maybe there was another way.

“Yeah, OK,” she'd said, looking into his eyes with a cool, assessing stare, “OK.”

It could have gone wrong, it could have been a disaster, but after her first mission when everything had gone to shit she had saved Clint's ass, saved Shield's ass. “You made a good call, Barton,” Coulson had nodded at him. And Clint had preened, praise making him stand taller. It wasn't that Coulson rarely praised his agents, he was a fair man who knew the value of positive re-enforcement, but the praise was always wanted, always longed for because Coulson  _was_  Shield. He was the strong, calm presence that made the world seem level again.

The thing that made Coulson more real than anyone Clint had ever known was that he believed, really and truly believed, in what they were doing. He truly believed that they were the good guys, that they were making the world a better place. Clint couldn't remember ever having that much faith in anything but he's glad that Coulson did, glad that he'd had enough faith to power all the strays and misfits he'd picked up over the years.

* * *

He's listening to Stark speaking at the memorial service. He's charming, of course, but he's also personal and sweet and emotional and other totally unexpected things. Clint listens to the words and suddenly he's too hot, the goddamn suit is suffocating him and the tie feels like a leash. He wants to get up, wants to leave, he doesn't think he can breath, doesn't think he can sit still and listen to this. He tenses, ready to rise, when Natasha's hand lands on his own, her fingers entwine with his and when he turns his head he finds that she's looking at him, her eyes are ablaze.

That's when he knows, knows what will happen after the memorial, after they've left the others. He wonders why it took so many years, why it took the death of someone they cared for to finally bring them to this point but then her fingers squeeze around his and he stops wondering, stops thinking.

* * *

Afterwards in the dark, his pants loud to his ears, Natasha pushes up on one elbow, she's a dark shadow against darker ones and though he can't see them, he can feel her eyes on him.

“Will you stay?” It is an enquiry, not a request, he knows she'd never stop him if he left, knows that she'd understand.

He doesn't ask her “how did you know?” He doesn't even think it, instead he thinks about her trusting herself to a complete stranger with a gun in some dingy apartment building, taking that step off the ledge into the great unknown. He thinks about the years and the battles and the trust and the way she took a joyride on a Chitauri chariot. He thinks about Coulson stepping up against Loki alone, thinks about his unwavering faith in them when no-one else thought they were worth it.

“Yeah, OK,” he answers, “OK.”

He feels the imperceptible nod of her head, feels that familiar, cool, assessing gaze before she lowers herself down besides him, her head on his shoulder.

“Good.”


End file.
